


The Other One Where Jack is the Gay Roommate

by pfaerie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, First Time, M/M, Romance, casual alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:32:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9326981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfaerie/pseuds/pfaerie
Summary: Straight guy worries he's being homophobic to gay roommate, realizes he's fallen in love with him. Turns out Gabriel Reyes is fine with Jack Morrison kissing guys if it's him Jack is kissing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So to celebrate 10k hits on [The One Where Jack is the Gay Roommate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256155), I decided to do the extended, explicit rewrite that so many people asked for. Shout-out to Hero for encouraging me and harassing me in the Google Doc for a week. A lot changed, a lot stayed the same. 
> 
> It's absolutely not necessary to read the old version-this one is better, I swear.

Gabriel Reyes has never had good luck with roommates no matter how great his place is. His 900-square-foot, third-floor apartment is close to the beach and a short drive from downtown, near a few of the nicer bars Los Angeles has to offer. The kitchen is smaller than he’d like, but the open concept, two bedrooms, and decently-sized bathroom make up for it. With communal laundry room in the basement and included parking, his apartment is worth the $1300 a month.

Or at least it would be if he made enough to cover all the rent, food, and his band expenses on his own. When he has a roommate, life it easy. Hell, getting a roommate is easy too. It’s keeping them that’s the problem. His first roommate moved in with her long time boyfriend in the suburb while Roommates #2 through #4 all complained Gabriel is a “bad person with a bad attitude” and “is impossible to live with.”

So maybe he has a bit of a short temper, but it’s hard to be a ray of goddamn sunshine when your time is split between a busy, tourist-trap of a restaurant and late night gigs with Death Blossom. Hours at home are odd at best and sporadic at worst. Sleep is hard to come by, and admittedly he’s blown up at the smallest of things on occasion. That aside, he does actually try to be polite and interested in his roommates, but it always ends with him getting called an asshole anyways.

Roommate #5 moved out two weeks ago, which Gabriel is actually a little upset about. He was always on time with his share of the rent and he wasn’t too annoying save for the health-nut schtick. Things were actually going well, which is why Gabriel blew a ton of money on a new amp, pedal, and skull shaped strap locks for his guitar. Death Blossom is planning on attending a competition in Nevada in a few months, so he really can’t afford to dip into his savings unless he wants to royally screw over his friends.

But rent won’t pay itself, and there’s only so many extra hours he can pick up at Angela’s before he blows a gasket. A more permanent roommate is definitely a necessity.

It’s another hell of a weekend at the restaurant. There’s a fair downtown that’s shut down a half mile stretch of road, and every restaurant within a five block radius has been packed with a steady flow of hungry, impatient customers since breakfast. Gabriel has been on his feet bumping elbows with the other two cooks and dishwasher in a 110°F kitchen for seven hours straight, and honestly it’s a miracle he hasn’t murdered someone. He got a text from Potential Roommate #6 about fifteen minutes ago, so it’s really time for a break.

“You make a habit of meeting strangers in back alleys?” a voice calls when Gabriel kicks open the back door.

“I mean, it is LA,” Gabriel retorts, looking the tall blond perched against the brick wall up and down, sizing him up.

Potential Roommate #6 is a blond farm-boy from some hick-ass, middle of nowhere town in Indiana. If Gabriel didn’t know the guy was going to law school, he’d think he was trying to make it big in Hollywood, drunk on idealistic notions of the glamorous film industry. Jack Morrison definitely has the whole angel-faced, pretty boy thing going for him, though he’d probably only land gigs for condom ads or erectile dysfunction posters that nobody even looks at.

“I take it you’re Gabriel, then?” Jack asks, glancing at his phone.

“That’s me. I only got a few minutes so let’s get it over with: you ever have a roommate before?”

“Just my dorm. Love my buddies, but really sick of campus life.”

“Why you stayin’ in LA?”

“Better people, better sights, and I wanna take summer courses. I got a lifeguard job down at Will Rogers’ so I wanna stay for that too.”

“Habits?”

“Occasional drinker, don’t smoke, I’m up at 6:15 every morning, and do Hot Pockets count as a habit?”

“Disgusting, but I’ll deal. Seeing anybody?”

“Uh-kinda? Nothing serious yet.” Jack rubs the back of his neck.

“Rent’s due on the 15th every month. I want $650 for rent, $50 utilities, and you buy your own food,” Gabriel says, crossing his arms for emphasis. Jack pales a bit-which Gabriel didn’t think was possible-but squares his shoulders before speaking.

“$400 rent, $50 utilities, we both pitch in for all meals, and I’ll take care of laundry and grocery runs.”

“That’s a steep cut. Why the hell would I go for that?” Gabriel’s already rebudgeting in his head. He won’t have as much fun money leftover, but it’s manageable.

Jack smiles, flashing all his shiny teeth, but doesn’t offer up an answer. It’s a challenge and, well, it’s not like Gabriel has any other offers lined up. Especially since Roommate #3 keeps stalking his Craigslist ads and posting about how insufferable Gabriel is in an attempt to “save” future roommates the headache. Creep.

“Anything else I should know before you move in?”

***

The best thing about omelettes is that they take less than ten minutes to make, even fully loaded with ham and bacon bits and whatever else Gabriel decides he wants in it. Gabriel likes his drowned in butter and cheese, topped off with some diced tomatoes and chives. It’s absolutely necessary to have a tall glass of orange juice and no less than two pieces of toast. Unfortunately, ten minutes seems to take forever when the most obnoxious person in the entire goddamn world, no, the entire goddamn universe is coming over.

Jack’s already buzzed up his boyfriend, meaning in about two minutes, he’ll be at their door with his stupid bike and a stupid indie movie and stupid locally brewed bat piss for the night.

“Cook faster, you fucking traitor,” Gabriel hisses at his omelette when Jack rushes to the door. While the eggs were never sentient, he knows they’re purposely taking longer to cook than usual just to torture him.

He doesn’t have a problem with Jack having company-although the boyfriend was sort of a surprise at first, but holy shit does Jack’s company have a problem with him. There’s always an air of competition, like Jack’s boyfriend has to prove how much smarter, well _book-smarter_ , he is than Gabriel or how much more of an Angelino he is because, _you know, Gabriel, supporting local businesses is the only way to go. You should really tell your boss to stop importing so much foreign alcohol when there’s a fantastic brewery that flavors it’s goat piss with cow farts._

Fuck!

No way he’s putting up with that shit. Again. He makes it all the way down the hall with his food, almost home free, before Jack accosts him.

“Watch the movie with us! We’re gonna order some Chinese,” Jack offers when Gabriel nudges open his bedroom door. His boyfriend rolls his eyes and puts a possessive hand around Jack’s shoulder. It’s amazing he’s not already tongue-fucking Jack’s ear.

Gabriel forces a smile and shrugs. “I’m good. Maybe another time.” Amélie texted him earlier, and he’d rather answer that than suffer through dirty looks because he keeps checking his phone while a movie’s on in his own damn house.

_I want to work on some new songs on Tuesday. Bring your laptop. -A_

_not more experimental depressing crap i hope_

Amélie, also known as Roommate #1 when Gabriel is feeling particularly pissy, has been his best friend for nine years. During sophomore year, she moved from France to the States. She sat next to him in Geometry, but they didn’t become friends until she joined the photography club. Amélie was supposed to go back to France after they graduated, but she ended up staying.

She’s been Death Blossom’s lead writer for the past three years and she takes it almost too seriously. Currently, she’s ticked off at her boyfriend, Gérard Lacroix, because they’ve been dating for the better part of eight years and he still hasn’t put a ring on it. Lately, everything she’s written has been about fleeting love and shattered hearts and trapped something-or-other. Real syrupy shit that chicks just eat the fuck up.

Gabriel’s not trying to be insensitive, but could she keep the feelings bullshit to a minimum? Death Blossom has an image, and he’ll be damned if some French accountant is gonna trash it. They’re hardcore, not a bunch of crybabies.

_When was the last time you wrote something? -A_

Okay, so maybe he’s had a bit of writer’s block, but Amélie doesn’t need to call him out like that. He tries not to pout as he shovels his omelette into his mouth. He can practically feel Amélie smirk through the phone, knowing she got under his skin.

_experimental depressing crap it is_

_It’s not “crap.” My songs have depth. -A_

_death is deep_

_Your songs are about monsters and darkness. Shut up. -A_

_youre so fucking rude to me i dont deserve this_

_Don’t be late Tuesday. -A_

Ugh. Why did Amélie have to move out and condemn him to roommate hell? It was great when it was just the two of them. She minded her own business, could actually cook, and was constantly available to work on Death Blossom stuff. Plus Gérard is tolerable...in short bursts...unlike Jack’s boyfriend.

God, what an absolute asshole that guy is. He’s always criticising Gabriel as if he has some kind of goddamn right to open his mouth. As if Gabriel even cares what he thinks? And how he’s always dry humping Jack in his living room. Like, he gets it, you’re gay. Stop shoving it down his throat.

_kill me_

_Okay. Why this time? -A_

_jacks boyfriend sucks_

_This again? Your boy problems are getting boring. -A_

_shut up i dont have boy problems_

_That’s even more boring. -A_

Gabriel tosses his phone on his end table, or rather, the pile of trash where his end table might be. If his mom knew what a dump his room was right now, she’d probably die from shock. Maybe he’ll clean later, after practice tomorrow. That’s a big maybe.

It’s 9:57 pm when Gabriel wakes up, meaning he got a whole whopping two and a quarter hours of sleep. His back pops when he stretches, and he’s got a bad case of cotton mouth, but he does actually feel like a person again. Bonus: Jack’s boyfriend is probably gone now, or at least in Jack’s room, so an awkward encounter probably won’t happen. He’d at least be able to run out and get some food and something to drink.

“Back from the grave?” Jack asks when Gabriel rounds the corner into the kitchen. He’s studying at the counter, books and notes spread out all over the island.

“Temporarily,” Gabriel agrees as he opens the fridge. He grabs a beer for himself, then grabs another for Jack. “Where’s your boy?”

“Home.” Jack accepts the bottle and pops the cap off on the edge of the counter. “You ever gonna learn his name?”

Gabriel shrugs. “If the dude stops thinking you’re gonna slip and fall on my dick, I might consider it.” Jack sputters beer all over his notes and hastily tries to mop it up with his jacket sleeve.

“He does not think that’s going to happen!”

“He does so think it’ll happen, dude! He’s two seconds from giving you a handie every time I look at you.” Jack rolls his eyes and takes another drink. “No, really. What’s going through his head? The straight, Latino guitarist is going to crawl into bed with you?”

“God, you’re so full of yourself. Maybe he just thinks I’m so hot that you can’t help yourself.”

“Oh? You have the magic dick that can turn dudes gay, but _I’m_ full of myself? Okay.” Gabriel takes another drink before deciding he needs something stronger. It feels like a rum kind of night. “Wanna drink?”

“I’m studying.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Obviously.”

Jack leaves his books on the counter and jumps onto the couch, flipping on the TV while Gabriel mixes drinks.

“Let’s play a game.”

“Like a drinking game or a video game?”

“Both. I’m gonna kick your ass in two things at once.”

They start with a racing game, just something to warm up with. Jack’s just a little bit better at it than he is, but the dude can’t hold his alcohol and is tipsy half way through his second drink. He’s funny when he’s drunk, all giggly without a filter. They switch to Call of Duty when Jack says he shouldn’t drink and drive, which Gabriel rolls his eyes at.

Jack keeps making stupid mistakes. Running into walls and spinning around in the open. Gabriel’s up by twenty kills, and Jack’s roaring drunk. It’s almost unfair.

“I win again, Jackie. Drink up,” Gabriel laughs, pushing the half-finished fourth drink into his hand. Jack obliges, downing the rest of the glass. At least a third of it dribbles down his chin and splashes on his jacket. Gabriel finishes off his second drink of the night. “That’s expensive stuff, you know. Stop wasting it, _pendejo_.”

Jack sticks out his tongue. “Get me another.”

“ _No seas mandón,_ asshole!” Gabriel complains, though he gets up anyways. He’s not drunk, but he’s fucking up the ratios on the drinks, making them just a little too strong. His mother didn’t raise a quitter though, and he’s not gonna waste a mostly good drink so…

There’s a loud bang followed by a weak “ooow…” in the living room. Gabriel sluggishly looks at the couch, Jack’s blond head nowhere in sight. He screws the caps back on the rum and Dr. Pepper and grabs the drinks. Jack is on the floor, hand pressed against his forehead.

“I’m not done kicking your ass.” Gabriel nudges Jack with his foot. Jack groans.

“I’m dying. Let me go with dignity.”

“You’re not allowed to die. You still have to pay your share of the rent.”

Jack finally opens his eyes and glares at Gabriel. “You’re so compassionate.”

“C’mon. I ain’t drunk yet.” Gabriel flops on the couch and grabs his controller. When Jack doesn’t move, Gabriel leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “You ain’t got a concussion, quit being a baby.”

“I might.”

“Drunk people don’t get concussions! Just admit you’re tired of losing.”

“I’m tired of _you._ ” Jack argues. All of a sudden, Jack’s hand flies up and fists into Gabriel’s t-shirt, wrenching Gabriel down and off the couch. His other arm goes around Gabriel’s neck, and before Gabriel knows it, his face is jammed into Jack’s armpit. They struggle against each other, and seriously it’s unfair how much strength Jack has when he’s drunk.

They wrestle until Gabriel manages to dislodge and has Jack pinned on his belly. Jack struggles, arms flailing until his knuckles collide with the coffee table. He lets out a pained groan while Gabriel laughs at him. Jack’s quick though, and as soon as Gabriel lets his guard down to gloat, their positions are swapped. Gabriel’s on his back, arms pinned above his head.

“Fuck! You fight dirty!” Gabriel laughs, trying to buck Jack off.

“That’s me! I’m a dirty little-” Jack doesn’t finish that sentence, though Gabriel can’t tell if it’s because of the alcohol or not. He laughs, and his breath reeks of alcohol and sugar.

“You gonna get off me any time soon?”

“I’ll get something off,” Jack responds. Ah yes. The lack of filter. Jack opens his mouth again, pink lips parting slowly while blue eyes darting across Gabriel’s face. And hell, Jack’s warm and a little sweaty and-

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” Jack blurts. He springs up, wobbling slightly as he steps over Gabriel, who turns his head and watches Jack go down the hall. Even though Jack’s not on him anymore, he still feels pinned in place. “Hey, Gabe?” Jack spins around, almost looking serious if it wasn’t for the hand he puts on the wall to steady himself.

“What?”

“Try not to crawl into bed with me,” Jack grins and winks as he opens his door, disappearing quickly.

“Damn, and doing it on Captain America sheets was a dream of mine. You’re a real dream killer, Morrison! A heartbreaker!” Gabriel calls. Jack lets out a sarcastic laugh before his door clicks shut.

It takes a few minutes, but Gabriel finally sits up. His brain feels like it’s going a thousand miles a minute and completely stalled at the same time, completely focussed on the voice screaming, _he has a boyfriend, dumbass!_ in his head. Which of course then leads to a, _you don’t like guys, stupid!_ and _he’s your roommate, idiot!_ At least there’s two painfully strong drinks sitting on the coffee table to take his mind off of Jack fucking Morrison.

***

Gabriel wakes up on the couch with a pounding headache. He feels like he’s floating while the room spins. His stomach does a backflip when he tries to sit up. _Bad idea,_ he thinks as he flops back down, blindly feeling for his pocket. It takes a while for him to realize he’s been wrestling with a blanket. His phone has been digging into his hip for who knows how long. It hurts when the blood rushes back to his hip.

His phone reads 10:54am. He has to be at work in three hours, which will be fun hungover. His head pulses with pain at the thought of all those dishes clattering, the yelling, the heat and humidity. Fuck. He can’t call out either. Weekends are the worst for Angela and it’s his own damn fault for drinking so much with Jack.

Speaking of which. Gabriel forces himself up to look around. Jack’s backpack and shoes are gone, meaning he probably had a study group or whatever the fuck college students do on Saturdays in the middle of summer. He probably put a blanket on Gabriel too. Good. It’s his fault Gabriel got drunk anyways.

“Ugh…” No time to think about Jack. Gabriel needs a greasy breakfast, Aspirin, and a drink that will actually hydrate him. The latter two he can do, but the first one requires him to drive ten minutes to the nearest In ‘n’ Out, meaning he has to hold off on the alcohol. _Fuck._ At least the drive isn’t too bad, though the sun is blinding and hot and Gabriel is pretty sure his head is going to explode.

He eats one of his burgers on the drive home and half of his second burger is gone by the time he climbs the two flights of stairs to the apartment. He’s thinking he should have ordered a third when he starts on his fries, but at least food, Gatorade, and painkillers are making him feel a little more like a person.

_list and keys on the counter_

A shower will have him functioning enough for work. He double checks the grocery fund, adds another $30 so Jack doesn’t have to worry about overspending, and heads for the bathroom. The shower is quick, he doesn’t bother shaving, and he pulls on a fresh shirt and work jeans. He shoves some extra clothes and two bottles of Gatorade in his bag before checking his phone again.

_Gotcha. Studying late tonight. See ya._

_get me more of that light green gatorade not green apple_

_Cucumber? Gross._

_fuck you you like the basic red one_

The thirty-minute walk to work is uneventful, but hot. Love those LA summers. He’s pretty sure anybody over the age of fifty can’t be outdoors, though that’s not stopping the tourists from crowding the streets as they try to find someplace to eat. There’s people sitting on the benches outside of Angela’s, clearly waiting for a table. The lunch rush won’t be over until three, giving the restaurant barely an hour to prepare for the dinner rush. He takes the back entrance in, nodding his head at Jesse when he passes.

“You look like shit.”

Gabriel gestures at Jesse, “pot,” then gestures to himself, “kettle.” He’s still got ten minutes until his shift starts, so he snatches the pack of cigarellos and lighter off the cement block Jesse left them on. “What’s your excuse?”

“Genji dragged me bar hopping last night. Said I’ve been cooped up at home too long. You?”

“Drank my roommate under the table.” Gabriel takes a drag of the cigarello and scrunches his now. “Peach? Really?”

Jesse shrugs. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Me? An asshole?” Gabriel feigns offense as he puts out the half-smoked cigarello on the brick lip of the building. He places it there, in case Jesse wants it later before wrenching the heavy back door open. “Don’t be too long, dishwasher.”

“Hey! Show some respect! I’ve been promoted to prep cook,” Jesse pouts.

“Whatever.”

The food industry is fast-paced, stressful, and downright chaotic. Tempers run hot, voices are loud, and everything is spoken in code. Gabriel’s lost count of the times he’s been cut, burned, and threatened, but goddamn does he love the kitchen. Despite the constant clash of personalities, there’s a strong sense of camaraderie between himself and the crew. At the end of the day, they all work together and make damn good food.

The weekend all runs together. There’s no serious accidents, only about twenty bitchy customers, and Gabriel’s throat is nowhere near as raw as it usually is. Clean up takes about an hour longer than it should because Angela insisted on a house dinner, but she brought in her homemade strawberry shortcake as a “thanks for working so hard” gift.

It’s hot and muggy, but at least the sun’s been down for a few hours so Gabriel doesn’t feel like he’s going to spontaneously combust on the way home. His feet are killing him and his thighs are burning, but he has too much pride to call a cab or ask Jack to pick him up when he lives so close. When he reaches the stairs of his apartment building, he almost considers calling Jack to carry him.

“How was work?” Jack asks. He’s spread out on the couch, reading a book. It’s not a textbook, so probably something fun for once.

“Busy as hell,” Gabriel responds, toeing off his shoes as he drops his bag on one of the breakfast bar stools. “I’m ready to kill Angela if she doesn’t kill me first.”

“You say that literally every week. Then you get your paycheck and you wanna kiss her.” He pulls his legs up close when Gabriel goes to flop on the couch.

“I do want to kiss her. It means she’ll be close enough for me to kill her.” Gabriel stretches. “Thought you were studying late this weekend?”

“Eh. We weren’t getting anything done. Plus I burned again.”

“Save a lot of lives then?”

“You severely overestimate how busy a part time lifeguard is.”

“So you just sat around and looked pretty all day then?”

“Oooh, keep calling me pretty, Gabe. It’s feeding my ego,” Jack laughs. He whines when Gabriel throws a pillow at him and it falls on one of his sensitive shoulders.

“Wanna antagonize me again, pretty boy?”

“Kinda, yea.”

Gabriel slaps Jack’s leg. It’s not nearly as burned as his face and shoulders, but it probably still stings at least. Jack stretches out, purposely sticks his feet in Gabriel’s face before dropping them on Gabriel’s thighs. He’s digging his heels in, trying to get a rise out of Gabriel, but…

“You do know that I know you’re ticklish, right?” Jack’s feet pull away and dig safely between the couch cushions faster than Gabriel can bark out a laugh.

“I’m not ticklish and you can’t prove I am…” Jack pouts, though Gabriel’s laughter is contagious and he can’t help but smile. They spend an hour watching trashy TV, silently dozing off between conversations and jokes.

Jack snores, and Gabriel’s attention locks onto the blond. It’s hard to look away from him, too, when he looks so relaxed. In the three months Gabriel’s lived with the guy, he hasn’t actually seen him not stressing about homework or summer reading or internships.

The LA sun has somehow bleached Jack even _blonder_ than he was when Gabriel met him, which is even more accentuated by the sun-burn staining his cheeks. His lips are slightly parted, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He’s not wearing that crusty blue jacket for once, probably because his sunburn is worst on his shoulders, and Gabriel notices that he’s actually got freckles now.

He never noticed how goddamn big Jack actually is. He supposes Jack does spend the day swimming or walking around LA, but god damn. Did he bench press baby cows in Indiana or something? Gabriel flexes his own arm, pleased that his biceps are definitely bigger, but shit is it a close call.

He also never noticed how topheavy the dude is, all shoulder and chest. The jacket he wears actually kind of hides how small his waist actually is. He’d joked about the whole “real-life Captain America” thing before, but Jesus Christ, Jack could probably be mistaken for the dude if you slapped some red-white-and-blue spandex on his ass.

His shorts have ridden up, making Jack’s leg bare up to about mid-thigh. Without thinking, Gabriel presses a hand to the sunburn there, and pulls away when Jack moves. His feet press against Gabriel’s legs as he shifts, and fuck does Jack run hot. Gabriel can feel warmth bloom despite his jeans. He stares at the white handprint as it slowly fills back in with red. He almost feels a little...disappointed seeing it disappear.

Which is weird.

It’s time to go to bed. If his brain is going to start thinking weird shit like that, he’s more tired than he thinks. Work was exhausting, mentally and physically, so clearly he just needs to sleep it off.

***

“It’s about time you showed up!” Fawkes yells, nearly falling off the banister of Amélie’s deck. Gabriel is late by almost an hour. He wasn’t counting on an accident to shut down a part of the road, but whatever. He’s here now.

Despite the shitty commute, he’s actually happy to see the members of Death Blossom waiting up for him. Amélie is perched on the railing, staring at her phone through giant, designer sunglasses, looking elegant and balanced. Next to her is Fawkes, who looks like he’s one hand gesture away from face planting into the rose bushes below if it wasn’t for the big hand of Mako currently wrapped around his ankle.

“Sue me,” Gabriel snaps as he flips off Fawkes. “What’d I miss?”

“Just Fawkes’ usual rant about how we need more pyrotechnics in our shows,” Amélie responds, shoving her phone into the pocket of her tiny shorts. Gabriel’s always wondered how she got things to fit in those things…

“I agree. More fire would be awesome.”

“Oh, don’t encourage him! It’s not in the budget!” Amélie scolds. “We don’t even play venues that _allow_ the amount of pyrotechnics Fawkes wants.”

“Sorry, ‘Rat. I really fought for ya,” Gabriel says, putting a sympathetic hand on Fawkes’ shoulder.

Fawkes puts a hand over his own heart, and contorts his face into exaggerated sadness. “You’re a real pal, Reyes. I’ll be sure your obituary says so.”

 _“Anyways,”_ Amélie cuts in. “Now that Gabe is here, we can actually be serious now.”

Gabriel flops on the deck chair next to the cooler. There’s only water, wine coolers, and hard lemonade. Amélie and Mako aren’t big on day drinking, so if she does supply alcoholic drinks, they’re fairly weak. He pops the cap off on the edge of the table, earning a glare from Amélie, and takes a long pull as she puts on her business voice.

“We have a few shows coming up the next couple weeks. I know weekends are busy for Mako and Gabe, but one of our gigs next week moved from Wednesday to Friday night. They understand if we have to cancel-”

“The fuck? Don’t cancel, how is that even an option?” Gabriel interjects.

“Because I don’t want to be an accessory to murder when you snap? When was the last time you got a full eight hours, Gabe?”

“Uh, yesterday? I slept for like fourteen hours actually.”

“After a week of sleeping for _four hours._ ”

“You are looking tired, mate,” Fawkes agrees. “Can’t remember the last time you just relaxed.”

“What the fuck is this? An intervention?” Gabriel groans. “I can’t afford to sleep-we’re doing the damn show.”

“You realize a Friday show will cost more? We’ll have to dip into the Nevada fund again! We haven’t even gotten our tickets yet!”

“We’ll make more and do more than break even, Amélie! Fuck!” Gabriel sets his drink down and sets his jaw. “Jesus Christ, I’ve gotta take care of car shit this week. You want me to be homeless or something?”

“I kinda wanna do the more money option, too, actually-”

“ _Tu m’emmerdes_ , quit flip-flopping! Pick a side!”

“Definitely Gabe’s side,” Fawkes says. It actually looks like Amélie is weighing the options of pushing him off the railing.

Mako finally stands up, muttering a quick, “this is going nowhere,” as he makes his way to the garage. Fawkes scurries after him, leaving Amélie and Gabriel to glare at each other.

 _“Fils de pute,”_ Amélie spits as she stands, flipping her hair for effect before stalking off.

“Right back atcha, _puta!”_ Gabriel calls. He chugs the rest of his lemonade before following suit.

He feels better when his baby is in his hands. The shiny black Stratocaster with white accents and skull-shaped hardware is plugged in and ready to go. It’s not dark enough now, but the pickguard has his persona name, Reaper, written in glow-in-the-dark paint. It’s cheesy and a little over-the-top, but Gabriel likes it and it’s _his_ baby.

Nobody else does anything glow-in-the-dark. In fact, none of them really match each other. Fawkes and Mako, stage names Junkrat and Roadhog, have a more crude, junker aesthetic compared to Amélie, or Widowmaker, and Gabriel’s gothic looks. At least they all kind of wear black.

They move through their normal setlist a few times, and goddammit. As much as Gabriel hates to admit it, Amélie was right. The old stuff is getting stale. Amélie’s new songs are actually pretty good, but Gabriel’s always been better at writing the instrumental parts. They work for a couple hours, until the creative juices run dry. Mako has work in a few hours and Fawkes has a demo project in the morning, so they leave around six. Gabriel decides to hang out just a little longer.

“So how’s the roommate?” she asks, handing him a bottle of water as she settles next to him on the couch. “It’s been what? Three months and he’s still not tired of your endless bullshit?”

“I’m a fucking delight, fuck you,” Gabriel growls, elbowing Amélie in the ribs. He idly strums his guitar, playing a simple chord progression. The strings need to be changed soon. “Jack’s good though. His asshole of a boyfriend on the other hand…”

“Ugh. This again? I get it. You’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous!”

“You text me every time the guy kisses Jack. You’re jealous.”

“More like grossed out!” Gabriel argues. “He practically dry humps the guy every three seconds.”

Amélie rolls her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. I asked about your cute roommate, not his creepy boyfriend.”

“So you agree he’s a creep!” Gabriel grins before processing the first part of what she said. “I never said Jack was cute.”

“So you admit he’s cute!”

“No! What? How would I know?”

“You’re straight, not blind.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Though, you wouldn’t have to describe him if you’d actually introduce us.”

“I want to keep my roommate, not scare him off.” Gabriel plucks at his strings again while Amélie takes a sip of water. “You don’t think I’m being homophobic for being grossed out by them, right?” The usually graceful and composed Amélie sputters, spitting water everywhere. Gabriel barely gets his guitar to safety with a loud, “what the actual fuck?”

“Shit-” she grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and pats at Gabriel’s arm and leg before patting at herself.

“This guitar is worth more to me than your fucking life, Amélie! Jesus Christ…” He looks the guitar over, wipes at nothing until he’s satisfied it’s completely dry before glaring at her.

She coughs. “Sorry. You took me by surprise…I, I mean, do you think you are?”

“Why do you think I fucking asked?” Gabriel sighs, scrubbing his face. It’s awkward enough he feels so guilty for hating the guy, could she be a little more sympathetic? Or at least _try_ to fucking help? She’s supposed to be the rational one that keeps Gabriel in check.

“I…” Amélie shakes her head. “Dinner and a movie?”

“Great dodge, Amélie.” There’s a pause. “I want steak.”

Gabriel sears the steak while Amélie makes an alfredo for the fettucini. He loves Amélie’s kitchen. She recently remodeled the whole thing, complete with an induction stovetop and stainless steel appliances. She even has room for all her needless appliances-seriously, who needs an espresso machine, a coffee maker, a French press, and a bean grinder? It’s just coffee. Calm down.

They watch some obnoxious French film that Amélie must have picked up during her last trip home. It doesn’t even have subtitles, not that Gabriel would pay attention even if it did. She doesn’t pay attention either, or more accurately, she can’t because Gabriel keeps fucking with her. Gérard will be back around eleven tomorrow, so Gabriel takes dessert, three fruit tarts to be exact, to go.

The lights in the apartment are off, and it doesn’t look like Jack’s home. His bag’s here though, and his jacket is hanging on the back of the couch. He likes to stay with his boyfriend some nights, though Gabriel can’t imagine why. Well, okay he _can_ imagine why, but he certainly doesn’t _want_ to.

It’s not even ten o’clock yet, and Gabriel almost feels like that’s some kind of accomplishment for him, so it’s definitely okay to celebrate with a beer or two and a movie. It’s been awhile since he’s had the big TV to himself, and he’d like to catch up on a few guilty pleasure shows he’d never admit to watching.

Unfortunately, the only beer in the fridge is the leftover elephant piss Jack’s boyfriend brought over which Gabriel refuses to drink on principle alone. He’s not feeling partial to any of the tequila or vodka though, not really looking to get drunk or anything. Plus all the brands he has are good to drink alone. He supposes the Seagram’s Seven hasn’t been touched in...well Gabriel can’t remember the last time he had any actually.

Practice must have really taken it out of him, or maybe the alcohol is really killing his attention span, but by the time midnight rolls around, Gabriel realizes he has no clue what’s happened in the past hour, and apparently it was something important. He turns off the TV and rolls over, not wanting to go to bed yet.

Amélie’s new songs are still buzzing around in his head, and he can’t help but hum and drum his fingers along to the beat. He taps on his thighs for awhile until his humming fades. Gabriel’s never been good at having nothing to do, hands constantly needing to do _something._ He fingers the holes in the nylon of his shorts, runs them along the ridges of the elastic waistband. His thumb skims across the coarse hair, following the trail into his shorts.

Something about idle hands runs through his mind when he presses his palm against himself, but he ignores it when warmth starts to bloom in his gut. He’s not thinking about anything in particular, just enjoying the pressure.

Summer hours at the restaurant have kept him busy. Even with the lack of shows, he’s been obnoxiously busy. To say he hasn’t time for sex would be an understatement-hell he hasn’t even had time for self-love.

Palming himself just isn’t enough anymore, so he wraps his hand around his cock. He keeps his strokes long and slow, from base to tip. He digs his feet into the couch cushions and readjusts, spreading his legs a little further. He braces his free hand on the back of the couch, drags it down and pulls something with it. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, but it smells nice.

He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, strokes himself a little faster while his left hand kneads at his thigh. Normally, Gabriel doesn’t indulge in fantasies when he jerks off, just lets the friction do its job, but his mind feels like wandering a bit apparently. He licks a stripe up his left hand and switches off, pretends like it’s not his hand.

All he really cares about is the hand, but his mind still tries to think up a person attached to it. Someone blonde and fit, pretty mouth practically watering at the sight of his dick. He takes a deep breath, and his nose is filled with the smell of salt and coffee.

 _“Keep calling me pretty, Gabe,”_ Jack’s voice echoes in his head. It’s not hard to imagine him on his knees between Gabriel’s legs, hot breath ghosting over the tip of his cock.

“Holy fucking shit-” Gabriel springs up and puts his hands in the air, breath coming in ragged huffs. He did not just-no fucking way he just? What the fuck? Jack Morrison is his goddamn roommate. His goddamn roommate who has a boyfriend. And fuck, it’s a little arrogant to think that Jack would like him just because he’s gay. Like, just because Gabriel’s a guy doesn’t mean…

_Not that it would fucking matter, Gabriel’s not fucking gay._

It’s time to go repress the past fifteen minutes of his life and lock himself in his fucking room for a week. Maybe he could kick Jack out? No, that’d be pretty assholish. Avoidance could work until he gets everything under control, right? Just avoid Jack for a few days? God dammit. Gabriel Reyes absolutely hates Jack Morrison.

***

Gabriel considers himself to be good at a lot of things. He’s a great chef, an even better guitar player, hell he’s actually a damn good kisser and a decent flirt. Unfortunately, Gabriel’s not so talented in the thought repression category, and, as if to add insult to injury, Jack Morrison haunted his fucking dreams last night. He hasn’t had a wet dream since high school-or at least not one that pushed him over the edge in his sleep.

How embarrassing.

His morning shower is freezing cold. While he might not have any control over his dreams, Jack’s not claiming his waking hours too if Gabriel has anything to say about it. He needs to wash the rest of the evidence of last night off his clothes, but, goddamn Jack really stays on top of laundry. Gabriel can barely find enough to do a full load, and he’s not paying a dollar to wash one pair of underwear and some jeans. His sheets could use some washing, he supposes...maybe it’s time to just gut his whole room and get it cleaned up.

He wastes about an hour cleaning his room, finding some extra packs of strings and picks in the process. Everything’s going good until he steps into the living room just as the lock on the front door clicks.

It’s a bit of a consolation that Jack looks just as surprised to see Gabriel as Gabriel is to see him. “I thought you’d still be asleep,” he says with a bright smile.

“Had stuff to do. Ain’t it a bit early for you to be home?”

“Not really? I have an afternoon shift,” Jack says. “You’d know that if you actually woke up before 2 pm on weekdays, though.”

“I’m an adult. I can sleep whenever I want.”

“Whatever.” Jack drops his bag and gestures to the basket. “You want me to take that down for you when I leave?”

“Uh.” Gabriel tightens his grip on the laundry basket as if Jack knows what’s on the bottom. “Nah, I got it.”

Jack gasps. “Gabriel Reyes doing his own laundry? I never thought I’d see the day!”

“Shut the fuck up. I did my laundry before you came along, boy scout.” He brushes past Jack, last night’s dream flooding his mind when he bends over to untie his shoes. Maybe Gabriel could fake his own death, change his name, and move to Florida or something. Jack can have the apartment. Ah, fuck, but then his boyfriend would move in and ruin it with fucking...hemp pillows and recycled wood chairs...the bastard would probably brew his own vegan beer too…

Honestly, fuck Jack Morrison. Everything was fine before he moved in. Gabriel was just a slightly bi-curious chef with no intention of acting on said curiosity and a sweet apartment and band and now look at him! Creaming his pants over a fucking farm boy with a Captain America obsession and zero alcohol tolerance. Who already has a goddamn boyfriend! _Oh, Gabriel Reyes. You sure know how to pick ‘em._

Fuck. He really does have a boy problem.

He has to clear his head. He packs a few days worth of clothes and his toothbrush, grabs his keys, and sends Amélie a text.

_staying with you this week_

The drive only pisses him off more, thoughts going back to stupid Jack and his stupid hair and his stupid boyfriend. Never in his life has Gabriel used his horn so liberally, but he doesn’t care. Also every goddamn radio station seems intent on playing every god forsaken love song known to man.

Amélie is on the deck when Gabriel pulls into the driveway. She watches him as he slams the car door and all but stomps up the walk.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, sipping tea from an obnoxiously large mug.

“No.”

“Is it about Jack?”

“ _No._ It ain’t always about him, Amélie. Shit,” Gabriel huffs, flopping into a chair. Amélie cocks an eyebrow, but says nothing, pushing the other obnoxiously big cup of tea across the table towards him. He takes a gulp, silently thanks Amélie for making the hibiscus tea, and broods. They sit in silence for a long time, just sweating in the sun together as Gabriel tries to work through his thoughts.

Gabriel tries to convince himself that it’s not about Jack-that it’s just about him and his feelings, but shit. He can’t really kid himself. It is about Jack and how Gabriel’s feeling about him. It’s not just the wet dream. Things have been going good with Jack, like, as a roommate and a friend. The dude is patient with Gabriel’s temper and weird schedule, but he keeps up with his snark, too.

Fuck, he’s pining like some kind of puppy. He could talk to Amélie about it. She is his best friend and as much shit as they give one another, she’s always been there for him.

God, what’s there to say though? He has a slight crush on a guy he’s known for three months who also has a boyfriend. There’s nothing he can do about it and there’s nothing Amélie can do about it either. Hell, she’d probably back him into a proverbial corner and find out about the dream and hold it over his head for god knows how long.

“We should get lunch,” Amélie finally says when Gabriel’s stomach growls. “I’m in the mood for Stout’s.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The drive into town is quiet. Amélie is giving Gabriel the time he needs, and Gabriel is trying to decide between dumping all his feelings on her or repressing his feelings. His head is suggesting the latter and he’s inclined to listen to it over his gut, which is insisting he do the former.

He's never been good at talking about this stuff.

***

“Heeey, Gabe. Everything okay?”

“Just peachy, Gérard,” Gabriel replies without looking at the man. “What makes you ask?”

“Oh. No reason. Just, you haven’t really showered in a few days. And, um. Well,” Gérard stutters. He snaps his mouth shut when Gabriel finally swivels his head to glare at him. The poor guy has always been kind of scared of Gabriel, even though they’ve known each other for over half a decade.

“You got a point?”

“Uh-no. Nothing like that? I was just...wondering how much longer...you were going to stay...” Gérard retreats back upstairs, and Gabriel groans. He’s maybe been a little bit temperamental and unbearable the past week. It turns out avoiding the Jack Thing is harder than anticipated. Also, going commando in the same set of sweatpants for three days straight is nowhere near as charming as it seems.

He hears the click of heels descending the hardwood stairs. “Okay, Gabe,” Amélie scolds. “Talk or get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re obviously avoiding something-or someone. Either talk to me or go home. You’ve had enough time to pout.”

“I haven’t been-”

“Do not. Lie. To me. Gabriel Reyes.”

Gabriel crosses his arms, and Amélie copies him, holding her ground. He doesn’t speak for a long couple seconds before he gives up.

“Fine. I’ll go if it’ll make you happy,” he hisses.

“I gave you two options. Don’t get pissy with me.” She puts her hands on her hips, watching as Gabriel shoves all of his things into his bag. When he starts to mumble, she pinches the bridge of her nose, _“J'en ai ral le cul.”_

It’s not Amélie’s fault he’s pissed off, and it’s really not fair to take it out on her and Gérard. But he’s never really been one to talk about this kind of stuff, not even with his best friend. Well, he hasn’t ever...had something like this to talk about…fuck, it’s all confusing.

“Friday?” he asks before opening the front door.

“Friday.”

He’s uncharacteristically nervous the whole drive home. He can’t even stall by going to the gym or going out to eat since he desperately needs a shower. It’s 3pm, so there’s a chance Jack is at his job already. Maybe.

If Jack’s home, he’s not in any of the common areas. A long, hot shower is the first order of business, and he has to admit that he feels better. He’s proud that his mind didn’t wander towards Jack at all during the shower. Shortly after is another story, but it’s the little victories. He puts on a fresh set of clothes, shorts and a t-shirt, before rummaging through the fridge. Jack, the fucker, didn’t go shopping for the week, so there’s not much to pick from.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Gabriel drops his Gatorade and jumps, banging his head on the freezer door handle. He spins around to see Jack, looking more than a little angry. His arms are crossed, fingers tapping in a frustrated rhythm.

“I’ve been busy,” Gabriel argues, ignoring the panic rising in his chest.

“Too busy to pick up your damn phone?”

“Maybe I was.”

“It’s been a week! You couldn’t have sent me a ‘hey, I’m not dead’ text?”

“You ain’t my dad.

“No, I’m your friend. What the fuck, Gabe?” Jack uncrosses his arms. He deflates a bit and slouches his shoulders. “Seriously. What’s wrong, man?”

Gabriel chews on his tongue. _You have a boyfriend,_ he wants to say. “Nothing,” is what he finally settles on. Jack makes a face. “Nothing’s wrong,” Gabriel insists. He suddenly feels trapped and claustrophobic between the open fridge and Jack. He takes a step forward, maneuvers away from Jack to close the fridge.

“Gabriel.” Jack bends over and picks up the Gatorade.

“Jackson.” Gabriel grabs his drink and twists off the top, sidestepping Jack to get to the hall.

“That’s not my name and you know it.”

 _“Jackson,”_ Gabriel repeats. “Everything’s fine. I’ve just been hanging out with Amélie.” He takes a drink. “Unless the next words outta your mouth are a heartfelt declaration of love à la _Casablanca_ , I don’t wanna hear it.”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought.” He’s not really disappointed, but he definitely feels like his chest is full of cotton balls. Real smooth.

_Did you make it home safe? -A_

_im ready for the sweet embrace of death_

***

Gabriel and Amélie are the first ones at the venue. Area 32 is not a bar that Gabriel frequents, but he’s been to it once or twice to listen to a few local bands. It’s decently sized, part restaurant and part pool hall with a lowered pit for those there for the live entertainment. A Plexiglas wall separates the restaurant from the pit to muffle the performance from patrons and ensure that patrons don’t have to scream at each other across the table.

When Mako and Fawkes arrive with the van, they spend the next forty-five minutes unloading and setting up their equipment and instruments. For once, nothing snapped and their cords didn’t tangle, meaning they don’t have to break into any of the back ups in Gabriel’s trunk. It takes twenty minutes to do the sound check and tune, leaving them an hour and a half to get ready for the show. Mako and Fawkes have easy costumes, but Gabriel and Amélie are a little more involved.

For Gabriel, the leather body suit is first. It takes ten minutes to get the damn thing over his ass, but he looks real good in leather, so it’s definitely worth it. While he made sure his suit is breathable, it’s still leather and they’ll still be on stage under hot spotlights in a room with tons of people. To prevent passing out, Gabriel drinks half a bottle of water after each step of his routine.

Amélie zips him up in the back as he does his stage makeup, which is just deep black circles around his eyes so his mask looks right.

“Plug my phone in, will you?”

“You’re so lazy,” Amélie laughs before digging in her purse for the chargers.

He drinks and shoves his feet into the knee high boots, followed by the belts, short sleeve leather jacket, and bracers. Even though his belly feels like it’s sloshing with water, Gabriel powers through and drinks more before clicking on his owl skull mask and sliding on his taloned gloves-which only look difficult to play guitar in.

As usual, he’s the last one ready with only five minutes to spare. Despite doing her body paint the night before, Amélie still took just as long as Gabriel to get ready. She wears a skin tight, purple catsuit, which is deceptively simple. The plunging neckline requires a lot of tape in places to avoid a Janet Jackson controversy.

Gabriel always gets antsy before shows-not because of crowd anxiety or anything. His mind just likes to remind him of how many things could possibly go wrong, and it really fucks with the perfectionist in him. One of them-most likely Fawkes-could fall off stage, their equipment could get fried if a breaker blows, an audience member could absolutely lose it...shit, even if things go well, he’s going to have a post-gig hangover and be miserable at work tomorrow.

He checks his guitar one more time before the lights dim. The manager announces them over the loudspeaker, voice booming as he gives a brief introduction. He’s pumping up the crowd, and there’s a loud round of applause when Death Blossom walks on stage.

The lights in conjunction with his mask makes it really hard to see the audience. It lets Gabriel stay in his own headspace when they perform, make sure he’s playing the songs perfectly. The crowd never really interests him-besides, he can still hear them perfectly fine. Death Blossom is amazing and he knows it.

He still throws the occasional glance up, so the audience doesn’t think he’s completely unaware of their presence. Amélie and Fawkes always scold him for not being animated enough, and they probably will scold him again after the show for not moving, but whatever. He looks like the fucking Grim Reaper. He’s not _supposed_ to dance across stage. They’re halfway through their last song when Gabriel looks up again and scans the crowd, clapping along to the beat while Mako does his drum solo.

How Gabriel even managed to see him is a mystery to him, but clear as day Jack Fucking Morrison is standing in the audience, eyes fixed on Gabriel’s part of the stage. He looks so out of place-or maybe Gabriel just isn’t used to having people he knows in the audience, but fuck. How did he even know where the band was playing tonight? He’d never been to any of their shows before.

Feeling more than a little flustered, Gabriel misses his cue to start playing again, but manages to get back in the rhythm after a few beats. He pointedly avoids looking at the audience, namely Jack, but it’s like there’s a magnet in his head and he can’t help but stare. They end strong and the crowd demands an encore. Even Jack is clapping along.

Well, Gabriel doesn’t mind showing off a little bit longer...maybe he milks the solo a little too much...the rest of Death Blossom is definitely a little surprised when he moves front and center and actually starts leading the crowd. Amélie and Fawkes give a quick outro, thanking the crowd and encouraging them to buy their CD-or at least check them out on YouTube and iTunes. A playlist takes over the loudspeaker as Death Blossom leaves the stage.

Amélie throws an arm around Gabriel’s shoulder. “You should have told me you were actually going to move! I could have brought my guitar too, you ass!”

“I was feeling spontaneous,” Gabriel says. A guitar duel would have been cool, but Amélie would have lost spectacularly. She’s been playing more keyboard lately.

Area 32 will be open for another couple hours, meaning clean-up won’t be for another hour at least as they clear out the pit. Gabriel is anxious to move though, and the limited space of the dressing room just isn’t enough. “Are we doin’ the Meet-n-Greet or not?”

Fawkes gasps. “And he’s goin’ to the Meet-n-Greet, Mako!” Mako grunts in response. “I dare say, our dear Reaper has his eye on a sweet, young thing!”

“Shut up-”

“No wonder he kept movin’ his hips like that!”

“I wasn’t moving my hips like anything!”

“Whatever you say, Shakira,” Amélie laughs. She passes water bottles to everyone, and while Gabriel knows he should drink something, he’s eager to get outside.

“See you for clean-up,” Gabriel says, backing out of the dressing room. Fawkes lets out a wolf whistle and the rest of Death Blossom laughs. There’s still a lot of people mingling in the pit, some admiring Death Blossom’s instruments and others just talking and taking up space. Gabriel scans the crowd, and Jack’s still standing in his spot, talking to some strangers.

A few people compliment Gabriel as he squeezes past them, patting his back or shooting him a thumbs up. He thanks them, but doesn’t stop until he reaches Jack. He turns around to see the rest of Death Blossom coming out to greet the audience and a bubble of panic rises in Gabriel’s throat. Without thinking, he grabs Jack by the collar of his shirt. Jack seems startled, resists as Gabriel leads him through the crowd until he realizes who has him. He’s a little more pliant after that, apologizes to everyone Gabriel almost mows over.

It only takes a minute to get to the equipment room, and it only takes a few more seconds for Gabriel to realize he has no plan after “get Jack out of Amélie’s line of sight.”

“Well, I feel special,” Jack laughs. “A private meeting with Gabriel Reyes himself. Or do you prefer ‘Batman’ in this get-up?”

Gabriel looks down at himself. “Batman ain’t got shit on me, dude.”

Jack snorts and brings a hand up to his chin, as if he’s examining a piece of art. “I dunno. The leather and utility belt say otherwise…” Blue eyes rake over Gabriel’s leather-clad body, unsure of where to stare. Jack doesn’t even try to hide his interest, tongue peeking out between his lip before he starts to chew on his bottom lip. Gabriel now completely understands why Jack’s boyfriend is so possessive. Has Jack always looked at him like that?

“Don’t make fun ‘cause you’re jealous,” Gabriel growls, snapping Jack out of his trance. Jack jumps and shakes his head, awkwardly clearing his throat. He dressed up too. Gone is the ever present blue hoodie, replaced with a painfully tight t-shirt that hugs those beach muscles and dark blue skinny jeans. Did he shave too?

“I’m not jealous, trust me,” he coughs, avoiding eye contact as he rubs the back of his neck. Gabriel crosses his arms and cants his hips, but he can’t help the smirk that pulls at his lips when Jack’s eyes flick back at him. No matter how hard Jack tries to suppress his emotions, he’s so painfully transparent.

“I didn’t think you owned anything but gym clothes,” Jack says.

“I’ll be sure to dress up real nice for you later.”

“Shit,” Jack laughs. “Don’t wear that. I’ll never graduate.”

Fuck. Gabriel’s heart just skipped a fucking beat and his stomach does a flip. _Play it cool, Reyes._ “So did you stalk me here or?”

Jack makes a face. “You...texted me?”

“I did what now?” Gabriel certainly doesn’t remember doing that. “Oh. Man, what the fuck. I’ll kill her.” Amélie must have texted Jack when she plugged his phone in. Sneaky bitch making him confront his problems…

“Should I not have come?”

“No-it’s fine. Some people just like to fucking meddle in my goddamn life,” Gabriel huffs.

“I-” Jack starts. He sheepishly looks at the ground and awkwardly shuffles his feet. Fuck. Now he’s gone and upset Jack. Great plan, Amélie. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”

“No.”

“Oh.” There’s a long pause. “Because they aren’t your friends..?”

Gabriel snorts. “Because they’re assholes. Trust me, you don’t wanna meet them.”

***

Angela calls around nine to tell Gabriel the restaurant is closed. Apparently the heatwave knocked out the power so they’ll have to wait for the electric company to fix it. She’s already got the fridge and freezer on the backup generator, Jesse’s offered to help keep an eye on everything so nobody else has to come in.

He’s still pretty bleary, but after ten minutes of tossing and turning, he realizes that sleep won’t come back to him. Frustrated he flips on his back and stares at the ceiling, kicking off his blanket. He’s vaguely aware of the morning wood he’s currently sporting, but doesn’t do anything about it.

Gabriel brings his hands to his eyes and stretches. His whole body is sore from the show last night, though that isn’t a surprise. The sweat rolling off his belly and chest and onto the soaked sheets below is though. The apartment still has power, but Gabriel can’t hear the hum of the air conditioner.

“Fuck.” He kicks the unit when he steps into the hall, just to make himself feel better as he makes his way to the bathroom. Jack’s door is closed and the apartment is silent. Considering the guy sleeps in, if 8:30 can be counted as sleeping in, on Saturdays, Gabriel is guessing he’s still asleep for once.

It takes a few minutes of near-scalding hot water pouring over his scalp for Gabriel to start shaking off the exhaustion. His dick is still begging for some attention, and honestly it’s too early for him to argue with himself. Maybe if he rubs one out now, he can spend the rest of the day in peace.

A thrill runs up his spine when he wraps his hand around his dick, every cell in his body jolting awake as he strokes himself. He starts slow, grip loose until he lets his head fall back. The hot water beats against his throat, and he strokes himself a little faster.

He rests his free hand against the tile of the wall, fingernails scratching against the grout. The walls of the tub keep him from spreading his feet further apart, but it’s fine. His muscles are starting to tense up all over, encouraging Gabriel to hurry up and finish off. Unfortunately, water is a terrible lubricant and he’s just not getting quite there.

As expected, his mind wanders to Jack, and maybe Gabriel is just shy of being on the edge or maybe he’s tired of fighting it, but he rolls with it. He lets his mind conjure up the image of him in the tight black t-shirt, looking at Gabriel with those damn blue eyes.

He should’ve pushed the boundary more last night. Tell Jack that playing guitar made him good with his fingers or something. God, the look on his face would’ve been priceless. Death Blossom’s never had groupies, but for some reason that’s the fantasy his brain comes up with to explain pushing Jack against the wall of that dirty equipment room.

Jack’s room is just on the other side of the wall Gabriel’s currently propped up against, but It doesn’t deter him from jerking off, in fact it makes him work a little harder at himself, moaning uninhibited. Jack wouldn’t be able to hear him over the spray of water anyways, though he probably shouldn’t take that as a personal challenge.

He imagines Jack in the shower with him, blond hair sticking to his forehead as he jerks Gabriel off-it’s enough to get Gabriel over the edge. He comes with a gasp, streaks of white splashing onto the blue tile. Gabriel slowly angles the showerhead so that it washes away. He feels so...loose and hazy...and good.

So much better than bottling up all that frustration, that’s for sure. Hell, even his body aches a little less. It takes five more minutes to wash up and another two to brush his teeth and get a towel around himself, which nearly ends up on the floor when he opens the bathroom door.

“Mornin’,” Jack says, rubbing his eyes. His voice is thick and gravelly with sleep. “Didn’t think you’d be up before noon at least.”

Well shit. Gabriel wasn’t expecting to come, _haha,_ face-to-face with Jack literally right after his shower. He’s caught a little off guard and hopes to God that Jack wasn’t outside the door when he was...fuck, he’d definitely been able to hear him then.

“Had to get up early. You wanted to meet my band, right?” _What the fuck?_

“I mean, I could’ve met them last night, but-”

“You wanna go or not, blondie?”

“Yea, I do, but-”

“Cool. We’re goin’ to the beach.” He doesn’t wait for Jack’s reply before slamming his bedroom door shut. Awesome. A spontaneous day at the beach. Half-naked. With Jack. What could possibly go wrong?

_apparently were going to the beach_

_You know I’ll burst into flame when exposed to the sun. -A_

_you get to meet jack_

_I’ll text Mako and Fawkes. Pick up some food on your way. -A_

Gabriel slides into his favorite pair of red and black trunks and a tank top before making his way to the kitchen. It’s too hot to cook, so he settles on eating some cold pizza and orange juice over the sink. He hears the shower turn off, listens to the opening and closing of doors as Jack goes back to his room to get dressed. Gabriel just tries to remember how to act like a normal goddamn person before Jack rounds the corner, still pulling a t-shirt over his head.

It’s just going on eleven when they leave for the grocery store, car packed with Jack’s backpack, sunscreen, towels, and empty cooler, two beach chairs, and an umbrella. While he’s sure his friends have most of this stuff in their own cars, Gabriel likes to be prepared. It’s a relief when the grocery store AC hits their faces. They buy two packages of Bubba Burgers, a 24 pack of hot dogs, ketchup, mustard, buns, chips, a case of Coke, a case of beer, and two bags of ice.

They get carded at the register because of Jack’s baby face, and Gabriel points at the photo on Jack’s ID. “Look at how cute you were!” he teases. “What happened?”

“Oh, don’t be a douche,” Jack snipes as he snatches his ID back and shoves it in his wallet. They make it back to the car and pack the cooler in the parking lot before they leave for the beach. While normally parking would be an absolute bitch, Jack put his employee sticker on Gabriel’s car so they could use the employee spaces near The Shack that long ago. He shoots a text to Amélie since he knows there’s no way they’ll be able to find the group once they’re down there.

Gabriel carries the towels while Jack tucks the umbrellas under one arm and grabs the chairs and backpack with his other hand. They each grab a handle of the fully packed cooler and Gabriel shuts the trunk and locks the car.

The trek down the boardwalk is easy, though they have to awkwardly shuffle, Gabriel leading, on one side to make way for rambunctious children and their parents. Amélie is waiting for them at the end, near the outdoor showers. She has on her favorite black bikini with strings that wrap around her wide hips like spider legs, bug-eyed sunglasses, and the biggest, most ridiculous straw sun hat Gabriel has ever seen. The smile she wears when she spots Gabriel and Jack is almost predatory.

She extends a hand to Jack, who awkwardly tucks the chairs under his arm and loops his hand through the backpack strap so he can shake it.

“Charmed. I’m Amélie. You must be Jack.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you since you aren’t blue,” Jack laughs.

Amélie gasps and brings a hand to her chest. “You were at the show last night?”

“Part of it. You guys were really good.”

“Don’t feed her fucking ego,” Gabriel warns. “She’ll never let you stop.”

“Oh, shut up. I’d much rather talk about Jack. Gabe has told me so much about you, you see,” Amélie says, taking Jack’s backpack and looping arms with him.

“Has he now?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s just been about how intolerable you are as a human being,” Gabriel interjects with a roll of his eyes.

Amélie ignores him. “He _never_ shuts up about you. It’s always ‘Jack this’ and ‘Jack that.” Really, he talks about you as much as he talks about his guitar.” She drops her voice, so Gabriel can’t make out what she’s saying but knows that she’s saying something. He grinds his teeth when she and Jack do an exaggerated laugh.

Fawkes is setting up a volleyball net when Gabriel, Amélie, and Jack finally make it to their spot. Mako is heating up a grill and gestures for the cooler.

“No water?” Mako scolds when he opens it up.

“I assumed you ‘n Amélie had it covered, ya fuckin’ health nuts,” Gabriel says.

He snatches the umbrella from Jack and sets it up to the left of the grill, the other side already occupied with Mako’s piggy umbrella and Fawkes’ beat up chair. Jack shakes out the towels, and then they each grab a chair and fold it out. Jack takes a seat and digs in his backpack for the sunscreen, quickly lathering up his arms.

“Get my back for me, will ya?” he asks, tossing the lotion to Gabriel. He gets behind Jack and squirts some in his hand. Of course, the first thing he does is paint a giant dick on Jack’s back, who snickers. “I know what you’re doing and you better stop.”

“Can’t a bro just rub another bro’s back without it being weird?” Gabe laughs as he rubs away his masterpiece.

“Bro, you just drew a dick on me. You’re making it weird.” Gabriel slaps Jack’s shoulders and gets up, leaving him to put sunscreen on his chest and legs.

“Oi! Gabe. 1v1 me!” Fawkes yells, juggling the volleyball.

“I just fuckin’ got here,” Gabriel complains. Fawkes falls to his knees and groans.

“Oh, come on! Amé and Mako won’t play with me! You’re my only hope!”

“You aim for the face. Stop acting like I’m just trying to be cruel,” Amélie huffs, crossing her arms.

“But _I_ clearly should do it. That what you sayin’?”

“Don’t act innocent. You play just as dirty.”

“I wanna play,” Jack pipes up.

“In that case, I’m on Fawkes’ team,” Amélie says. Jack nods and stands up with a smile, putting a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“I think we’ve got an unfair advantage. I’m really good at volleyball.”

“Don’t get cocky. Amélie played in high school.” Gabriel spins around. “Hey, Mako! Don’t bother making all of that. I’m about to fucking obliterate half the band.”

Fawkes and Gabriel take the front positions, antagonizing each other through the net. They bare their teeth and kick at each other’s ankles. Amélie serves first, ball sailing through the air towards Jack. Fawkes jumps for it, but it goes backwards. Amélie saves it, and while it’d be easier for Jack to get it, Gabriel is feeling particularly competitive and goes for the spike. Fawkes dives for the ball, and Amélie hits it again. When he takes a step back, Gabriel’s foot catches on his own ankle at he trips backwards spectacularly into Jack. The ball lands behind them. Point for Amélie and Fawkes.

It’s Jack’s turn to serve next, but he only sends the ball to the net. He and Amélie both laugh when Fawkes and Gabriel smack each other in an effort to get the ball, and they laugh even harder when Fawkes dives for the ball and Gabriel swoops under the net to wrestle it away from him. Point Jack and Gabriel, by the way.

Gabriel and Fawkes are banned from playing front after that, but distance doesn’t stop them from yelling at each other. They play seven more, relatively short games before Mako calls them over for lunch. Jack and Gabriel are up by one point. Lunch is deserved.

“Babe!” Jack yells as he speeds towards the seating area to kiss his boyfriend. “I didn’t see you show up!” Gabriel rolls his eyes. Amélie, who is opening up the buns, looks from the men to Gabriel. While her glasses cover most of her face, Gabriel can tell her eyes are wide and her brows are raised. She feigns gagging before laughing softly.

Gabriel decides on two burgers and two hotdogs practically swimming in mustard. He sits on Amélie’s blanket, as far away from Jack and his boyfriend he can get without being too obvious. Amélie only gets a plain burger and some regular potato chips, though she grabbed a beer for herself and Gabriel.

“So that’s the boyfriend?”

“Aren’t they disgusting?”

“Cloyingly sweet. My teeth are going to rot out of my skull,” Amélie agrees. “Jack is like an eight. He could do so much better than Mr. Four.”

“Jack’s like a nine. The fuck you talking about?”

“Oh? What happened to your unwavering straightness? I thought you were completely incapable of judging another guy’s looks.”

Gabriel takes a bite of his burger and shrugs before swallowing. “So the straightness may have wavered...slightly. Maybe I’ve been a little curious. There may have been a dream. Or two. Stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“You’re smiling, and it’s freaking me out.” Gabriel takes another big bite.

“Is that why you stayed at my house all week? To escape the gay thoughts?” Amélie teases.

“To work through the bi-curiosity. Don’t be rude.”

Amélie just hums in acknowledgement as she opens her bag of chips. Gabriel follows suit, wolfing down the rest of his food like a seagull would swoop on him any minute. He’s the first one done, so he decides to spend the next half hour soaking up some sun while everyone eats and laughs.

He’s just starting to doze off when he hears, “fire in the hole!” He opens his eyes just in time to see the volleyball land on his gut with enough force to push every bit of air out of Gabriel’s lungs. He curls into the fetal position, groaning in pain. Fawkes giggles.

“And another victory for Junkrat! Direct hit!” he yells, hopping over Gabriel as he swipes at Fawkes’ legs. “Get up, you big baby! We’re doing a 3v3 now!”

“Fuck. I’m gonna murder you, Fawkes,” Gabriel says. Jack extends a hand to him, helping him to his feet. “Yea. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Hi, Fine. I’m J-”

Gabriel sticks a finger in Jack’s face, who just smiles brightly at him. “Don’t fucking finish that, white boy.” They all get into position, Jack and his boyfriend up front and Gabriel in the back. On the other side, Amélie and Fawkes are up front and Mako is in the back. “Hey! Why the fuck does ‘rat get to be up front? I thought we were banned!”

“We can trade after this round,” Jack offers.

“You the best,” Gabriel says, blowing a kiss to Jack. His boyfriend looks absolutely livid, and Gabriel blows a kiss to him just to fuck with him. The ankle-biter’s been picking a fight with him for the past month, so he may as well bite.

Mako serves, and Gabriel watches it go right for Jack’s boyfriend. It doesn’t look like he’s going to get it, so Gabriel dives for it, bodychecking him to the side and into the sand. They lose the point, but Gabriel just found his new favorite minigame.

Gabriel is making up the rules as he goes along, but it mostly just includes slamming into his teammates and touching Jack literally anywhere to piss off his boyfriend. He looks ready to explode when he accidentally-an honest to God accident-touches Jack’s ass. Jack laughs about it as Gabriel apologizes.

“You’re down by three points. Can you give up already so we can go shower and eat?”

“Losers buy drinks!” Fawkes grins.

“Why the fuck do you only say that when you win? If I say it, you suddenly ‘have a concussion’ and ‘need to go to the hospital’?” He takes the last two burgers and stacks them on a bun. No sense in tossing out perfectly good food, especially when that’s all that’s left. They’re halfway through packing up when he asks, “where’d Jack go?”

“He left with his boyfriend a little while ago. You didn’t see?” Fawkes responds.

“Obviously, that’s why I asked, smartass,” Gabriel snarls as he whips out his phone.

_what the fuck dude you too good to clean up with us_

_Sorry. I’ll explain later._

Gabriel almost feels guilty, but it’s the asshole’s fault for poking at him for two months...so it’s like, 50-50 at the very least as far as blame goes. Fawkes and Mako grab the cooler, taking the umbrellas and portable grill under their arms respectively. Gabriel grabs the chairs, and Amélie grabs the towels.

“Was I being too competitive?” Gabriel asks.

“You? Competitive? No,” Amélie says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Gabriel glares at her. “You may have been a little...aggressive...I’m sure Jack barely noticed.”

“That didn’t sound convincing.”

“You were three seconds from throwing his boyfriend into the ocean, Gabe. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Ugh...I’m gonna have to apologize, ain’t I?” He tosses his stuff into his trunk and the rest into Mako’s van before leaning against his car, scrubbing at his beard.

“Don’t get too hasty.” Amélie puts a hand on his shoulder. “Go shower and join us for drinks. There’s no use in stressing over Jack right now.”

“Yea, fine.”

“Drive safe. Text me?”

“Yea.”

The drive home is quiet, though guilt chews at the edges of Gabriel’s mind. He figured the asshole would have fought with him before punishing Jack, but that was a dumb assumption. Gabriel doesn’t have the heart to check his phone to see if Jack’s texted him yet, instead dropping his phone and keys on the counter as he makes his way to the bathroom.

He just needs to rinse off, so he elects for cold water to sooth his sun-kissed shoulders and back.There’s sand everywhere, mostly in places where the sun don’t shine. He could probably make a sandcastle if he wanted. He wastes about ten minutes, and knows he didn’t get all the sand, but at least he feels more like a person than a walking beach which is nice.

He doesn’t bother wrapping a towel around himself for the three steps to his room. He’s not going to dress up for drinks with the band, so he picks out his most comfortable pair of leggings and a t-shirt before making his way into the living room.

“Y’know. Just because you don’t think your roommate is home doesn’t mean you should walk around nude,” Jack says. Gabriel nearly jumps out of his skin.

“The fuck you doin’ home?” he says, resisting the urge to clutch his chest.

“Gabe, be honest with me. Have you been fucking with me for the past couple weeks or what?” The look on Jack’s face is serious, like he’s peeling away the layers of Gabriel.

“I don’t know wha-”

“Gabriel.”

They stare at each other, both looking for something, a hint of...well Gabriel doesn’t know what Jack’s looking for. But Gabriel’s looking for a sign that Jack wants to hear him say something. That he wants Gabriel to spill his guts and just admit it. That Jack wants _him._

“No,” he says carefully. “I haven’t been fucking with you. Why would I-”

“I like you, Gabe,” Jack blurts. He seems surprised, but doesn’t stop talking. “A lot more than I should. I don’t know when it started-but, like. It’s just, easy with you. Like we talk and have fun and there’s just _something._ Right?”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to respond to that. But he knows if he doesn’t say something Jack’s gonna take it the wrong way. “I…” he coughs. “You gotta boyfriend…”

“No, I have a self-absorbed, possessive asshole of an ex-boyfriend,” Jack corrects. “And, before you ask: no, you aren’t a rebound. I dumped him.”

“You two seemed all lovey dovey today,” Gabriel points out.

“I was having fun. He thought he got to own that. I'd rather be with the guy who’s bucket list includes getting fucked on my Captain America bedsheets.”

"Correction: his dream is to fuck _you_ on your Captain America bedsheets. At least 100 times."

Jack glances at the clock. “We could knock it down to 99 before we go out.”

That was definitely forward. Gabriel stares at Jack for a long moment, trying to figure out how serious he actually is. The ever-present playfulness is there Jack’s blue eyes, but there’s something else there too. Anticipation. Just waiting for Gabriel to make a move…

Would that actually be okay? To just...have sex with Jack? It’s true that a lot of Gabriel’s past relationships started with a night of wild passion, but. Well, this is Jack. As in his roommate-of-three-months Jack. Never mind the fact that Jack would be the first guy he’d ever be with…

“Sorry.” Jack falters. “That was too far. I shouldn’t have-”

“I didn’t say ‘no,’ did I?” Gabriel snaps, finally stepping around the couch towards Jack. He stiffens when Gabriel sits down next to him, putting a hand on his thigh. He’s on top of Jack in half a breath, kissing him hard. Butterflies are fluttering in his gut while his stomach does flips. He’s always considered himself to be a good kisser, has been told as much many times, but right now his mouth isn’t working quite right. Clumsy and uncoordinated are probably the only two words that can be used to describe the kiss, but he doesn’t want to stop.

He gives Jack’s thigh a squeeze before moving it up, and his thumb definitely ghosts over the line of his dick. Jack makes a noise, something like a gasp, and Gabriel takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into Jack’s mouth. He tastes even sweeter than Gabriel could ever dream.

Jack slides a hand to the back of Gabriel’s neck, pulling him down as he leans back. Gabriel follows, refusing to take his mouth off Jack’s. His hands keep wanting to explore, so he lets his hands wander. One clasps his hip, the other goes up his shirt, tracing the lines of muscle. His sunburn is like fire to the touch.

Strong hands glide over his own aching muscles, still sore from their day at the beach. He likes it, the firm, confident strokes of hands almost as big as his own. The smell of Timber scented Old Spice filling his nose and warming him from the inside out. He flinches when Jack’s hand touches a still-forming bruise he didn’t know he had. Jack switches to a more featherlight touch in silent apology.

They’re wearing too many clothes, Gabriel decides as he pulls away. Jack leans up, trying to recapture Gabriel’s lips, but he slumps back down when Gabriel puts a hand on his chest. But, fuck. Gabriel can’t help but stop and stare. Jack’s kiss-swollen lips are parted, panting softly. Gabriel can’t tell if the red staining his cheeks is sunburn or a blush or a combination of the two, but it’s actually kinda cute.

“You look like a damn virgin,” Gabriel says without thinking.

“I guess you’d be the expert,” Jack grins, reaching behind himself to grip to collar of his shirt. Even though he spent the whole day with a very shirtless Jack, seeing him spread out beneath him, pupils dilated and expression needy. He looks down when Gabriel flattens a palm on his chest, just feeling before dragging his hand down to Jack’s abs. It’s thrilling to see his own mark on Jack, even if it is just a temporary handprint. They both watch as it fills back in with red. Jack impatiently hikes up Gabriel’s shirt, signalling that it’s his turn to undress.

When they kiss again, Gabriel’s mouth actually cooperates, though Jack leads. He sucks on Gabriel’s bottom lip, running his tongue across the sensitive flesh before sinking his teeth in. Gabriel moans-no- _growls_ at the pain. Jack is squirming beneath him, grinding his hips up for friction that Gabriel wants too.

Jack breathlessly pulls away. “I thought you said you wanted to do this on Captain America bedsheets, not your ugly couch.”

“You always get rude when you’re horny?”

 _“Do you?_ It’d explain a lot-oh!” Jack makes a sound close to a yelp when he’s lifted by his thighs, which he immediately loops around Gabriel’s hips as he grips his shoulders. The kissing is a little distracting when Gabriel’s trying not to run into any furniture, but it’s a good distraction. He moves his hands to Jack’s ass, swallows the gasp when he squeezes.

Jack’s hand practically slams on the door as he reaches for the handle, and Gabriel stumbles in when the door swings open. He’s too preoccupied with counting Jack’s stupidly perfect teeth with his tongue to care if the doorknob just punched a hole through the drywall. Jack digs his ankles into the backs of Gabriel’s thighs, urging him to the bed just a few feet away.

Somehow Jack manages to get on top of Gabriel, hands running up and down his thighs as he presses hot, wet kisses to his neck, collarbone, and chest. He glances up at Gabriel when he flattens his tongue against his left nipple. The fucker even has the audacity to _smirk_ when he takes the nub between his teeth.

“Jesus, fuck,” Gabriel breathes, dropping his head on the mattress. Jack just hums in acknowledgement and kisses his way down. There’s a pang of regret when Jack gets to the waistband of his leggings because there’s absolutely no hiding his growing erection. Hot breath ghosts over the bulge before it’s absolutely engulfed in the wet heat of Jack’s mouth. “Oh my god.”

He hooks his fingers in Gabriel’s leggings before asking, “is this okay?”

“What?” It takes a second for Gabriel to process the question. “Yea, you’re good. Keep going.”

“Lift your hips then.”

Gabriel digs his heels into the mattress and obliges, biting the inside of his cheek while he holds his breath. Jack’s mouth practically waters when Gabriel’s cock springs free. “Like what you see?”

“That’s not a serious question, right?” Jack huffs.

“Maybe I want my ego stroked a little bit.”

“I mean, I could stroke that or stroke your dick. Your choice.”

Gabriel’s about to say something sarcastic, but his vocal chords stop working as soon as Jack licks a stripe up the underside of his cock. Apparently it wasn’t Gabriel’s choice. He brings a hand to card through that soft, impossibly blond hair of Jack’s. There’s still a bit of sand stuck to his scalp, and Gabriel can smell the beach still clinging to Jack.

He moans when Jack sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth, and fuck he does this thing with his tongue that drives Gabriel wild. He fists his hand in Jack’s hair and tugs in an effort to keep his hips still, which Jack apparently likes since he moans and sucks Gabriel’s dick even deeper into his mouth. The vibrations are what break Gabriel. He thrusts up, and Jack shifts so that his arms are resting on his thighs, pinning Gabriel down. Jack’s too fucking good at sucking dick. Gabriel’s head is spinning, or maybe it’s the room. It’s bordering on too much-

“Stop, holy shit,” Gabriel says, whining when Jack pulls away. He catches the way his shoulders tense up, how he awkwardly starts to shuffle to the other side of the bed to give Gabriel space.

“No, not like-just stop _that._ Get back here.” He reaches out and pinches the scruff of Jack’s neck to press their mouths together until he feels Jack relax, who lets himself be rolled onto his back. Gabriel kicks his leggings off the rest of the way and tugs off Jack’s trunks. He gets right on top of Jack, pressed their bare chests together while driving a knee between his legs. They both touch each other all over and the kissing is heated, but not urgent as Gabriel calms down.

“You good?” Jack asks.

“The plan’s to fuck, ain’t it? Can’t do that if I blow it all now.” He’s always had a terrible refractory period, and running around the beach instead of taking a nap didn’t help. They’re only just getting started, and he’ll be damned if night ends before they get to have any fun.

Jack laughs and pushes Gabriel away a bit to dig in his end table drawer for something. Gabriel takes a minute to appreciate the twist of his spine, how his muscles contract and stretch. He can’t help but lean down and press kisses to his ribs. “Y’know, I didn’t peg you as a one-n-done type of guy.”

“Yea, but I have a real good endurance,” Gabriel says.

“That’s why you needed a breather, huh?” Jack teases. Gabriel doesn’t feel like admitting he’s still a little off after his morning shower-jerk, as if Jack needs to know the exact extent of the effect he has on him. Jack finds whatever he was looking for and settles back on his elbows, pressing the stuff into Gabriel’s hand. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Hundreds of idle hours on the internet since he was sixteen have given Gabriel a vague idea of how to fuck a dude, but no real practical knowledge as to how to do it. Foreplay isn’t exactly the main focus of the kinds of things he stumbled across, and he knows that the actors are just doing a superficial performance. He’s never even had a strong will to experiment on himself...

“Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ cold feet now…” Jack complains, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. Probably doesn’t want to push Gabriel if he isn’t ready, but-

“No-just...tell me what to do,” Gabriel demands. He’s not looking for his first time with Jack to be an even more awkwardly inexperienced fumble than it already is. While an impromptu anatomy lesson might make things a little less hot and heavy, making things good for his partner has always been important. Jack’s no exception.

“Oh.” Jack nods in understanding and grabs Gabriel’s right hand. He gives it a quick once over, probably to ensure that Gabriel’s nails are short and clean before nodding. “Warm up some lube-don’t worry about too much or anything. Better to be overdone in this case,” Jack instructs as he reaches above himself and grabs a pillow. Gabriel does what he’s told while watching Jack shove the pillow under his hips and readjust.

Jack hooks a leg behind Gabriel, urges him closer so that he can plant his feet on either side of him before continuing. “Start slow-just one.”

Again Gabriel does what he’s told, presses the pad of his finger against Jack’s hole. Jack takes a breath and Gabriel’s finger practically glides in all the way to the knuckle. He pauses, keeps his hand still as Jack’s ass clenches. He lets his free hand wander though, stroking Jack’s leg and hip and belly. Jack snickers when his thumb delves into his bellybutton.

“Get down here and kiss me,” he huffs impatiently. “And move your finger. Just curl it up.”

“Cool,” Gabriel says intelligently, planting his left hand beside Jack’s head before bending to kiss him. He didn’t realize how nervous he was until Jack started to kiss it away with slow, languid strokes of his tongue and the soft press of his lips. He strokes his finger along Jack’s insides until Jack jolts like he’s been electrocuted.

“There we go,” Jack breathes. He pulls his legs in closer to lift his hips up. “Keep going just like that.” He curls his finger and presses again just a little bit harder, and Jack throws his head back to moan. Gabriel kisses at his jaw, drags his lips down his throat to nip and suck marks on his neck and shoulders. Nothing too dark, just little hickeys that will probably blend with his sunburn.

“You-” Jack moans when Gabriel takes his earlobe between his teeth. “You can add another one.”

There’s very little resistance to the second finger, but Gabriel eases it in slower to drive Jack wild. He’s kissing at his collarbone by the time he reaches the first knuckle, only to his second knuckle when he starts peppering kisses on his chest. He liked it when Jack played with his nipples, so maybe he’d like it to…

“Spread your fingers.”

He goes slow, alternating between stretching and curling his fingers. His left hand makes its way to Jack’s right pec, and he teases his nipple to a stiff nub while he laps at the other with his tongue. He tries to get a look at Jack’s face, but he’s got his head back so far that all he can see is the hard line of his jaw and the bruising column of his neck.

The heat rolling off Jack is suffocating, or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s 100 goddamn degrees and they don’t have AC. Either way, he’s absolutely drenched in sweat, which is salty and bitter and just tastes so _Jack_. He can’t get enough of him.

Jack sighs and arches his back. “Twist your wrist a bit. Add a third when you’re ready, fuck.”

His fingers are long and dexterous, and he can’t help but think of Jack like a guitar, every sound that escapes him sounding almost as good as the notes from his guitar. His confidence builds with every little twitch and involuntary gasp that escapes him. He’d never admit it, but he moves his fingers like he’s playing the intro to AC/DC’s Hell’s Bells when his third finger is in. Jack only stands the fingering for another couple minutes before he grasps Gabriel’s shoulders and pushes him to sit on his haunches, blindly grabbing for the lube and condom that’s been digging into his ribs since Gabriel started.

“God fucking dammit, I want your dick so bad,” Jack groans in a voice that’s all gravel.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Gabriel smirks. Jack doesn’t acknowledge him as he strokes Gabriel back to full hardness while tearing the foil with his teeth. He impatiently rolls the condom on and slicks Gabriel up, and fuck it feels good having Jack’s hands on him again.

Jack flops back on the mattress and brings a foot up to tap Gabriel’s bicep. “Put my legs on your shoulders.” Gabriel does as he’s told, lining his dick up with Jack’s ass in the process. He can feel the ring of muscle clench against the head of his dick, resists the urge to press forward. _Wait for Jack,_ his mind orders.

He grips Jack’s thighs, admires the divots his fingers dig into his flesh. His eyes travel up the length of his body, follows the plains of sun-kissed muscle spread out before him. Jack’s chest rises and falls in a fast rhythm, though it’s obvious he’s trying to even it out. He’s chewing on his lower lip and his eyes are shut and-

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” He doesn’t realize he said it out loud until Jack looks at him and smiles-not a cocky smirk or a smug grin, just a genuine smile. A knot tightens in Gabriel’s stomach, a little embarrassed about being on the receiving end of such a look, but he pushes it down.

Gabriel knows to go slow, but it’s fucking torture. It feels like it’s been hours since they started. Every inch is excruciating, and he has to stop a few times to let Jack adjust to the intrusion. He mutters something about Gabriel’s dick about to split him in half, and Gabriel almost laughs.

When he bottoms out, they both groan. He leans forward, just a bit to test and Jack is surprisingly flexible. Jack hooks his hands behind Gabriel’s head and cranes his neck for a kiss.

“Want me to move?” he asks once they separate.

“Fuck me already, damn,” Jack breathes, moving his hands to Gabriel’s shoulders. Finally, Gabriel moves his hips in shallow thrusts, and fuck Jack is so goddamn tight around him he can barely stand it. He wishes he could tease him, draw this out nice and slow, drive Jack so close to the edge just to bring him back down, but he doesn’t have the patience.

It’s not long before he’s pulling almost completely out and slamming back into Jack hard and fast. Jack picked a good position that makes Gabriel fuck up into the spot that had him absolutely writhing on his fingers. And, fuck. Jack is fucking _loud_. He’s abandoned gripping Gabriel’s shoulders, instead bringing one hand above his head to fist in the sheets and his hair. The other hand wraps around his own dick, stroking himself in time with Gabriel’s thrusts.

Gabriel doesn’t know where to look: Jack’s slack-jawed expression or his painfully hard dick. Fuck, even the stretch of his stomach as he arches his back is goddamn hypnotizing. The only thought running through Gabriel’s head is that _he’s_ the one doing that to Jack. Jack fucking Morrison is coming apart at the seams because of _him._

Jack comes first, Gabriel’s name tearing through him in a shout. White streaks of cum shoot all over his chest and belly. If Gabriel is being honest, he’s been on edge since he got the condom on, so his orgasm comes more as a relief than surprise.

Courtesy calls for Gabriel to get a washcloth and clean up, but he can barely feel his legs. The most he can do is not flop on top of Jack, instead rolling to the side to pull and tie off the rubber, which just gets tossed on the floor where Gabriel will inevitably step on it. He puts an arm behind his head and just focusing on how good he feels.

Jack’s the first to move, propping himself up on an elbow and sliding a hand across Gabriel’s broad chest. Gabriel cracks an eye open to see Jack’s smile.

“So, that was pretty gay.”

“Shut the fuck up, oh my god,” Gabriel groans, playfully pressing his hand into Jack’s face. Jack just laughs and presses a kiss to the inside of Gabriel’s wrist before pressing his cheek into his palm. Gabriel rubs his thumb against his lips, and Jack kisses that too. He’s not sure what they are right now...wonders if he should leave and go across the hall.

Jack seems to sense that awkwardness and shifts closer, using his feet to kick the blankets up to cover the both of them. They’re kissing again, just a gentle press of their mouths against one another. Jack is slowly climbing on top of him, body wet and warm and a comfortable, grounding weight. Nothing else matters. Not even…

“Oh fuck,” he gasps.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting hard again,” Jack sniggers, pressing kisses to the corner of Gabriel’s mouth.

“Unfortunately I ain’t. I forgot about the band,” he reluctantly pulls away and hangs off the bed, snatching his leggings and digging for his phone. Sure enough, he has a thread of unread messages from Amélie and four missed calls. He scrolls through the texts first.

_Where are you? -A_

_You better get your ass over here. Junkrat is insisting all drinks are on you if you don’t show up. -A_

_Gabe, what the fuck? -A_

_Gabriel Reyes, if you don’t pick up your goddamn phone, I’ll kill you myself. -A_

_Pick._

_Up._

_Your._

_Phone._

_For your sake, you better hope you were murdered._

Jack rests his chin on Gabriel’s shoulder, sliding a hand around his waist. “They mad you ditched ‘em?”

“Pretty sure this was my last night on earth,” he responds, tossing his phone on Jack’s end table and rolling over. The damage is already done, may as well get a little bit more out of it. There’s a loud crash in the living room that makes him painfully clash teeth with Jack. They both groan in pain, rushing to cover up as the sounds of three people scrambling around the apartment.

The door swings open, light flooding Jack’s room and burning Gabriel’s eyes. Amélie’s head darts between the two of them, and while Gabriel can only see her silhouette mixed with Mako and Fawkes’, he swears he can see her eyes shining with the murder she promised in her texts. Jack pulls his clean pillow over his face.

“Explain yourself,” she demands.

“Remember how I thought I was homophobic for hating Jack’s boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Jack corrects, voice muffled.

Gabriel rubs the back of his neck. “Turns out I’m fine with Jack kissing guys as long as I’m the guy he’s kissing.”

“Smells like you did way more than kissing there, mate,” Fawkes laughs, holding his nose and doing an exaggerated pee-yew hand gesture. Mako groans and grabs Fawkes by the scruff of his neck, leading him down the hall as Amélie pinches her sinuses.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope y'all enjoyed!


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